


Dogtooth: Part I

by Hircyon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dialogue Heavy, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Nobody is a good person, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, extremely niche content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hircyon/pseuds/Hircyon
Summary: Astrid is a custom-built AI, a satellite operative fulfilling Nuvo Vindi's revenge against the powers that wronged him. Tasked with uncovering the secrets of a rumored weapon being developed on Serenno, she finds herself working with the mastermind himself.She and Moralo Eval both have a taste for power, and many well-kept secrets that will threaten to disrupt the delicate balance they find together. Their relationship is razor-edged. All it takes is for someone to slip.
Relationships: Moralo Eval/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Break Through

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just a little guy, it's my birthday, c'mon. So in honor of that, I'm finally going to publish this. I can't guarantee regular updates after the first four chapters, because that's all I have finished, at the moment. This story has been too long in the making for something absolutely nobody asked for. So I might as well just do it.
> 
> If you're not here for extensive development of Moralo Eval's character, I don't know what to tell you.
> 
> One "quick" note: I don’t usually like explaining my intentions because IMO if the story doesn’t make it understandable, you failed as a writer. But I’ve also spent an unreasonable amount of time fine-tuning my characterization of Moralo Eval. Because we all have _that_ character. Mine just sucks. 
> 
> So in reference to how I describe Moralo’s inflection, I really believe he’s putting on a voice that’s richer and more self-important that his natural tone. It’s an ego thing. He slips as he gets progressively more stressed. His actual tone of voice is a bit higher and more strained (compare the way he speaks in Deception to Crisis on Naboo). I doubt that was intentional behind the scenes, but it is fun.
> 
> I figured this was worth explaining, since most people probably didn’t pay more attention to Moralo than they had to in the Deception arc and this story is already way too niche.

Dawn painted the Serenno tree line with soft mist, a watercolor backdrop for something terrible. Astrid stood at the top of the ship’s ramp, inspecting the clearing, waiting, perhaps, for a signal to begin. How long had she been awake in the blur of hyperspace? It didn’t matter. Droids didn’t sleep.

A single figure stepped to the edge of the clearing, making no move to meet her. This would be her employer, presumably. Shortish and square—a Phindian. It was a relief to work with another alien. Astrid herself wasn’t immediately identifiable, owing to her deliberately constructed nature, but she looked looked canid and organic; alien enough that humans found her intimidating and unreadable. Astrid crossed the clearing, keeping her pace steady. She wasn't good with people face-to-face, but she was capable. She had a mission.

The Phindian drew himself up as she approached, not that it made much of a difference.

“I am Moralo Eval. Welcome to Serenno,” he said with a sweeping gesture, his words staggering under their own importance.

She inclined her head slightly and held out a hand. “Astrid.”

“Very stoic. Moralo Eval likes that.” He gave her hand one perfunctory shake and motioned for her to follow. “Come. We have much to discuss.”

He led her through a small copse to another, larger clearing in the forested foothill. She followed him into a temporary shed with a dark holotable and an array of hard copy blueprints. The glaring construction lights on either wall gave the space a conspiratorial atmosphere that reminded Astrid of holodramas. The work she normally took on behalf of her creator was straightforward and impersonal, hit jobs and slicing operations. Eval’s performance piqued her interest. The projector between them blinked to life.

“You are undoubtedly aware I’ve chosen you from many other programmers because you have the skill for this extremely delicate operation. What I am not certain of, however, is whether you have the discretion.” Moralo knit his fingers and leaned in.

“Shouldn’t we have discussed this before you hired me?”

“You would think so,” the Phindian said with a small, wry smile, “but believe me, this is all very intentional. I want you to remember that you are not indispensable. I’m not going to patronize you with talk of honor and duty. We’re both professionals here. But, this is a war, you understand. Certain people higher on the chain of command than you and I have vested interests in the information I’m about to share.

“So,” he continued, sitting straight, “in layman’s terms, if any part—a single iota—of this information leaves this arrangement of ours, I will not hesitate to slaughter you. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly.” She kept her tone dry. “Standard confidentiality agreement. You want me to sign something?”

“This isn’t exactly litigious business,” he said quickly. “Let’s get to the point. I present to you, The Box.” A nearly-featureless translucent cube flickered above the projector.

“How striking.”

He gave her a warning look. “Please, curb your enthusiasm. This is a highly complex piece of machinery. In overview, it contains a set of individually operated rooms.” A cut-away replaced the cube. “This is not a maze or an obstacle course. It’s much more like a puzzle box. ‘Participants’ enter from the lift at the bottom, and the operator sets the course in real time by creating paths between pre-determined points of conflict.” Eval’s voice dripped with self-satisfaction.

Astrid leaned forward, studying it carefully. The so-called “points of conflict” were equally-sized rooms separated by a grid of sectioned walls that could collapse to form passageways. Moralo gave her a moment to admire, then called up a detail of the internal mechanics.

“Each inset panel will be individually mobile. This allows the operator freedom to herd the subjects between rooms at whim, creating a sense of disorientation. A loss of power. This is the important part. The Box is a not a game, but a trial. It cannot be conquered, only survived.”

“Poetic,” Astrid murmured. She was somewhat enamored by the concept, despite its inefficiency.

“Isn’t it?” The Phindian smirked. “What you know about the job at hand is basically accurate, minus a few important details, for propriety’s sake. I, of course, ran an extensive background check on you and your portfolio of work.” He leaned in again, the angles of his face catching the glow of the projector in an eerie way. “There’s a reason I chose you, specifically.”

“Which is?”

“You have a natural aptitude. Slicers are practically a credit a dozen, but programmers, who actually know how to build something—that’s value. Droids can build a facsimile with blueprints and supervision,” he sighed dismissively, “but a droid can’t make art. What I need is an artist. Someone close to my own level. And you demonstrate a certain, shall we say, moral openness I find appealing.”

“I’m flattered,” she said flatly.

“You should be. You will be responsible for building a semi-automated interface.” He began outlining the array of tasks the interface needed to accomplish, and Astrid listened intently.

• • •

She assembled two important facts about Eval himself during his long-winded dissertation.

First, that he was very invested in his image as a calculating but unstable mad genius. And second, that his death threats were hollow. He wouldn’t need to put such a fine point on the intimidation if it really meant anything. Even if Eval tried to kill her, he would discover she was all synthflesh and carbon alloy. Then Astrid would have to kill _him_ —and that would complicate things. While she doubted the Phindian would be missed, she would have valuable secrets and blood on her hands. And, honestly, how badly could she fuck up such a simple job?

“Now that we’ve covered the necessary details, would you like to see The Box?” He drummed his fingers on the table expectantly.

“Actually, yes.” Normally, Astrid didn’t bother with formality, but she was curious. Eval had built it up so much, she needed to know how the real thing stood in comparison to his egotistical explanation.

“Excellent. You need to witness The Box in person to truly appreciate its magnitude.” Eval chuckled and moved past her without waiting.

The Box was located further out on the sprawling grounds. It towered over the forest, its shadow darkening their path. Now, their isolation made sense. They approached in silence, Eval finally letting his creation speak for itself. It looked mostly complete, at least on the outside. The matte black exterior rose over them like a monolith.

“Once complete, it will rise six meters on repulsorlift, accessible by turbolift.” He pointed out the faint shadows of energy lines, subtly tracing how power would be channeled throughout the machine. Eval continued his complicated techno-babble, mostly for his own benefit, as Astrid stood silent in the presence of the construct. It had a palpable sense of foreboding, like a deep bass tone.

“It certainly is impressive,” she said, when he finished.

“Touch it.”

She glanced at the Phindian warily before walking up to place her palm flat against the smooth, black durasteel. It was probably cold, but her synthetic skin couldn’t feel temperature. What she could sense was something electric, some undercurrent of power, a shadow of the violence it was capable of producing. It felt charged. Waiting.

“This is what you’re part of,” Moralo said, his voice low, almost sultry. “This is what I really wanted you to see.”

The mercenary let her hand fall and tilted her head back. The Box’s darkness blocked out even the vast Serenno sky. She felt fine being part of something needlessly violent. Like Eval said, this was war. Her goals were clear; beyond that, it wasn’t really her problem.

The job didn’t put her on edge. Eval did.

• • •

Alone inside her ship, she keyed an encrypted code into her commlink and waited.

“You are on-site with the Separatist weapon, yes?” The voice came through on a soft wave of static, words clipped by a Faustian accent.

“I have visual confirmation. Tomorrow, I begin work with the engineer.”

“Good, very good.” She could hear the smile in Nuvo Vindi’s voice.

“Unfortunately, Doctor, what specifications I’ve already seen indicate this machine may not prove useful to you. It’s more of a showpiece than a weapon. Perhaps the finer details of its inner workings may be of value.”

“That is not for you to decide,” the Faustian snapped. “Deliver to me everything they have. That’s your job.”

“Of course.” She reflexively looked away, glaring, even though there was no visual feed.

“I will have my day of reckoning, and you will bring it to me.”

The channel closed. Astrid sat in the darkness for a long time—silent, motionless. Processing.


	2. Calibration

Moralo Eval’s ideals might have been grand, but the work was standard, tedious programming. Write, test, research, debug, inject lines of preexisting code, and start over. What surprised Astrid was Eval’s distance. She had heard little and seen less of her Phindian employer since his introduction, but that suited her fine. He seemed so overbearingly interested in her motivations, she was sure he suspected her. Maybe the distance was part of his approach.

Eval’s deadlines would have been nearly impossible for an organic being. It was almost too convenient, how she wasn’t one, how she could push past any need for food or sleep. In a way, this wasn’t any different than working for Vindi.

Astrid paused, leaning back in her chair. That was a little disappointing, wasn’t it?

The control panel’s communicator chimed softly.

Astrid sighed at the comm code and tapped the line open before she could be tempted to ignore it.

“Eval,” she said. An acknowledgment, not necessarily a greeting.

“I trust things are progressing as planned?” the Phindian all but purred through the speakers.

“They were, yes.”

“Good.” He seemed oblivious to her tone. “I would like to propose a little meeting, at my earliest convenience. Say, in an hour?”

It wasn’t like she had a choice. “All right. Where?”

“Meet me in front of the command center. Don’t worry, this is only a small detour from your regularly scheduled programming.” He chuckled at his own joke and the transmission ended.

Astrid made a noise of annoyance. She needed to confront her unease with Eval if she wanted to coexist and complete her real mission without detection. She’d get as close as she needed to the Phindian, if only to identify this feeling, name it, and excise it cleanly.

• • •

Eval was, in fact, waiting for her in the open doorway of the command center. Outside, the only lights she could see were the distant, dim pinpricks of the Dooku estate. The construction field wasn’t illuminated. Droids, she supposed, didn’t necessarily need light to work. Clandestine activities were better done in the dark.

“What time is it?” she asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“Late enough.”

“Late enough for what?”

He smiled and chuckled behind closed lips. Evidently, he was trying to intimidate her.

“Would you care to join me for a drink?”

Astrid was about to comment on the professionalism of this request, but she supposed it was professional in most circles to socialize with your work partners. That life just wasn’t hers. She tilted her head, trying to look pleasantly surprised.

“I suppose I could spare the time, since you’re asking.”

“I am.”

The forest carried a foreboding pressure in the dark, everything enclosed in still, heavy air. He led her to a small freighter that looked straight off a seedy outer rim lot. Rain had left the hull streaked with reddish grime. This, she assumed, was Eval’s ship.

Inside, it was spartan and dim. Not lived in like a ship, but _inhabited,_ like a cave. For all his grand posturing, Eval seemed to need very little to get by, and she found that surprisingly relatable. The Phindian gestured for her to sit at a small table in the galley as he dug two mismatched glasses and a bottle of something deep green out of the cupboard.

“Tell me, Astrid,” he said as he placed the drink in front of her, “what is it you find appealing about coding?”

She withheld a grimace at the way her name sounded on his lips.

“I don’t.”

Eval blinked, eyes wide. “Really?”

“I don’t enjoy writing code, no. It’s a means to an end.” She ran her finger around the lip of the glass. “But you were right, about being an artist. Good code reads like poetry.”

“I know. Moralo Eval is a man of many talents. What few I do not possess, I am at least knowledgeable of their particulars.” His eyes flicked to her untouched drink. “It took some effort to find liquor of any value here,” he added, his tone still low and pleasant. Forcefully so.

“You shouldn’t have, on my account. But,” she raised her glass in a little ‘cheers’ motion and sipped, letting the sour taste spread in her mouth. Is this what liquor tasted like to organics? How did they drink so much of it? Astrid redirected her thoughts. “What is this about? If it’s a question of my work—”

Eval held up a hand. “This is not about business. This is personal. Since you’ll be under my employ, I would like to get to know you.”

“You said you ran a background check. What more is there?”

“Plenty.” His eyes widened with predatory curiosity.

“I think you’re overestimating me.”

“You should hope not.”

She looked up sharply at that. The Phindian seemed pleased with her reaction.

“It’s not my job to entertain you, Eval. It’s my job to write code, and I’ll do that. I don’t need to prove anything else to you.”

“I’m merely interested in developing a rapport,” he said, undeterred. He was enjoying this specifically because it made her uncomfortable, wasn’t he?

“Well, there isn’t much to discuss.” She took another sip for appearances. “My profession suits me. I’m not terribly interested in anything besides slicing. As far as hobbies…I suppose I play hologames. I just like to keep busy.” Technically, these weren’t lies. She settled more casually in the chair and crossed her arms. “What about you?”

“Moralo Eval has many skills, yes. I am, of course, best known as a strategic mastermind and a mechanical engineer.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve done my research on you as well.”

While he was known as a criminal strategist, he was also known to be a horrible business partner. Moralo Eval paid people to work _for_ him, not _with_ him, and fully embraced his rancid reputation. That was how he got by in the business. Add to that, his species. Phindians were innately social beings, considered contrary and hard to deal with. “Circumlocution” didn’t begin to describe how intense a conversation with a Phindian could be. So this, she reasoned, was actually normal. He wasn’t prying out of mistrust, he was kriffing lonely. He just wouldn’t admit it.

She shouldn’t care, but it felt sort of nice to connect with someone on that level, even if they didn’t realize it. Vindi certainly hadn’t intended this. He wanted to keep her distant from others. For the most part, she obeyed. It was never really a choice.

“Then tell me,” Eval said smoothly, almost preening. “What do you know about Moralo Eval?”

“Exactly what you want me to know, probably. If you _are_ the strategic mastermind you say you are,” she teased lightly. “I don’t know if I believe everything I’ve read about you, though.”

He let a charged pause linger between them.

“You should.”


	3. Random Access

Furious typing filled the command center. Astrid, having met her actual benchmarks until her next status update with Eval, was trying to chase down a lead on an external database. Anything with valuable information to extract. She could pull up local schematics, but if this network offered no information on The Box’s ultimate purpose, she was wasting her time. She didn’t have anything of value to report to her real employer, and Vindi had made it clear he had no patience for anything less than perfection. Why should he? He had designed her to be perfect. The cadence of her typing took a distinctly violent energy.

“Your dedication is admirable.”

Astrid swore under her breath and quick-closed the console window. This was the last kriffing thing she needed. She leaned around the chair to see Moralo Eval standing in the doorway.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Perhaps, if you would like to take it that way.”

Eval sounded unusually average tonight. She almost missed the low, forced tone of voice he usually used, when this alternative made him sound so tired. So very average.

“Did you need something?” she prompted.

“An excuse to waste time, perhaps.”

Astrid just stared, uncertain what to say and increasingly wary. The Phindian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose—whether in frustration or exhaustion, she couldn’t tell.

“Well,” he said, his voice regaining some of its smoothness, “since it appears we’re both plagued by insomnia, perhaps you would care to join me for a while.”

 _Insomnia_. She checked the chronometer on her communicator.

“It’s two in the morning.”

Eval barely faltered. “I make my own hours. One of the advantages of this particular vocation.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’re free to spend the rest of the night in here, for all I care.” Irritation darkened his tone.

She couldn’t really do that if he knew about it, could she? Astrid tilted her head in a pointedly thoughtful expression.

“If you insist,” she said with a toothy smile, and powered the terminal down.

She could hear rain drumming the durasteel as they made their way to the entrance, fat droplets hitting like stones. Eval made a noise of disgust and started into a pathetic jog. Astrid followed, easily overtaking the Phindian to wait at his ship’s ramp. He arrived miserably wet and out of breath, giving her a searing look as she stepped aside to let him enter first. She shook her wet hair out of her eyes, smiling.

Why was it so fun to bruise Eval’s ego? It was dangerous, by maybe that was worth exploring.

• • •

Moralo hated this planet. He hated the frequent rain, the matte painting beauty, and the monotony of it all. And now his subordinate was intentionally testing him. He had invited her here in unprecedented goodwill. Maybe he should teach her to appreciate that. Yes, perhaps, this social game was just a whim to soothe his aching boredom. She still owed him respect. The Phindian clenched his jaw, then forced himself to relax. He would need his charming veneer to get on her good side.

Then, just maybe, he could figure out what she was really after.

She entered the galley behind him, brushing water out of her hair. Thunder rumbled distantly. Moralo took careful stock of her appearance. She wore a loose, cropped sweater that, while it bared a stripe of her pale stomach, didn’t reveal much when wet. How droll.

What did he actually want from this, again? It was hard to think straight when the insomnia got this bad. He found his thoughts drifting down long corridors of haunted paranoia, or fixating on base desires he would otherwise ignore. Like now. It was just the exhaustion, he reassured himself, exacerbating these long periods of stress and isolation. He was coping.

And what of Astrid? He squared his shoulders to address her.

“Are you coping?”

She blinked in confusion. “With what?”

“The job at hand.” Moralo waved his hand, urging her on as though he hadn’t started the conversation in his own head.

“I’ve been trying. Your benchmarks have been somewhat demanding.”

“They’re supposed to be. I demand excellence, which you have delivered, I’ll give you that.” He paused, carefully studying her reactions. “How very lucky.”

She shifted slightly and crossed her arms, pushed on the defensive.

 _Perfect_ , he thought elatedly. She was reading him, as he had inferred, and he could still make her visibly uncomfortable. Moralo paid close attention to body language. It proved to be a necessary survival skill. He was always more interested in someone who could respond to his cues, because it added another layer to the social games he liked to play.

Astrid was self-assured and aloof, infuriatingly so. He’d tried to intimidate her multiple times to no avail, which only motivated Moralo to continue searching for an opening. Something he could exploit. Their last interaction had been somewhat fruitful. He’d gotten her to relax a little, to reveal a bit about herself, though it would take a lot more to get under her skin. More interestingly, he’d learned they played off each other quite well. He almost enjoyed these interactions.

“If I may ask,” she began, her tone made more irritating by her core world accent, “what is this about?”

“What do you think it’s about?”

“I asked first.” She swiveled her pointed ears forward in an expression he could only describe as playful. Moralo made a sound of annoyance, but it was mostly for show.

“Do I need an ulterior motive?”

“You, personally? Yes, I’d say so.”

Moralo grinned, and it felt mostly genuine.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I know your reputation, Eval. I know what you’re about. You’re doing yourself a disservice, pretending you actually care about who I am and what I do. If you want something from me, just say so.” Her tone was light but her gaze, uncompromising.

“Then, I’ll dispense with the formality,” he said, letting his voice drop. “There’s something about you that doesn’t add up. You are a single-minded worker with no aspirations or hobbies, as you’ve told me. On all accounts, you’re perfect for this role. Maybe…too perfect.”

“I’m here to do the job you hired me to do. Is that a problem?” Astrid inclined her head slightly, challenging him.

He approached her, stopping about an arm’s length away. Tension pulled at his muscles.

“People rarely deliver to Moralo Eval’s high expectations. Frankly, in anyone else, I might find this troubling, or even threatening.” He dragged the words out with the gravity he felt they deserved. “However, I find you…uniquely engaging.”

Astrid smiled with an intimidating number of pointed teeth. “So you set people up to fail you?”

“Normally, I don’t have to.”

“Unfortunately for you, perfection is what I do.”

She was so smug, playfully threatening. The heated tension coiled in his stomach now, and his heart pounded in his throat. Did he want to fuck her or fight her? Either way, he was aching to get his hands on her.

“I would love to take you apart,” he growled before he was aware he was saying it. His voice was too breathy, his need too obvious.

Astrid seemed to consider this, so he granted her the time. Slowly, she lowered her arms to her sides.

“And if I let you do that, Moralo? Would you stop making this harder for me than it needs to be?”

Moralo sucked in a breath between his teeth. Hearing her say his name felt…oddly incendiary.

“What is it you think I want from you?” That was weak, even to him, because his motivations had made themselves all too clear and now he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the thumbprint hollow of her clavicle, down her exposed belly, to—

“Neither of us would be here right now if you didn’t want to fuck me.” Her words cut through his thoughts like a vibroblade. “But I’ll leave, if that’s not the case. Say the word, and this never happened.”

He inhaled deeply. By making her admit it first, that gave him the upper hand. At least, he could tell himself that. Moralo finally met her eyes. He did not say the word.

For once in his life, Moralo Eval said nothing.

He stepped forward, bringing his hands to her waist, her body so much warmer than he had imagined. She backed toward the table until she could push herself onto it. Her palms cupped his face. They were isolated in this pocket of warmth.

A peal of thunder rattled the ship. Astrid glanced up, ears flicking.

“Focus on me,” he said huskily and ran his hand up her back, pushing her shirt up until she lifted it over her head. He chided himself for being too fast and desperate, but he _needed_. Now that he had her, the desire was too much. It wasn’t that she was particularly attractive. She was real, and that was enough.

The canid was just as flat-chested and cold white as he’d imagined, her little breasts pert with soft, peachy nipples. A well-healed scar ran down the middle of her torso, from collarbone to hips. How he wanted to trace it all the way down; how he wanted to hear the gruesome story behind it.

He pushed against her, chest to chest, and pressed his mouth to where he assumed her carotid would pulse, not that he could feel anything over the pounding of his own heart. His fingertips traced the faint bumps of vertebrae between her shoulders. Her heat, the soft friction, the shift of muscle and bone beneath her skin—it was intoxicating. Astrid made a small noise as he bit down and sucked. Her fingers ran along his jaw.

“Moralo,” she murmured, voice even and low. A thrill rolled through his chest and stomach. It had been too long.

She leaned back on her hands, opening her body to him. With only a moment of indecision, he undid the button of her pants and pushed his hand in, mapping the ridges and folds of her skin. Standard, humanoid female anatomy, but not disappointing. He watched her face closely as he rubbed her clit, and pressed himself less than subtly against her leg.

Astrid rolled her hips, but her face remained impassive. He needed to break that control, to see her come undone. To _make_ her come undone, beneath him, arched and breathless.

She leaned forward, gripping his shoulder for leverage.

“Softer,” she said kindly.

It took a few beats for him to come out of the haze of arousal and readjust his rhythm. Her fingers kneaded the muscle of his shoulder, then drifted down his chest. She pinned his hand beneath her weight as she leaned forward to undo his belt and bare his erection with decidedly more delicacy than Moralo had shown. Astrid rubbed her fingers down the ridged underside with an earnest curiosity he found compelling.

Moralo hissed as she finally encircled his dick, her palm soft and her grip firm. He’d wanted more than this, he wanted to be inside her, but he was suddenly aware he wouldn’t last much longer. Too much raw need. When she shifted her hips forward, he withdrew his hand to wet two fingers with saliva and pushed one gradually inside her, keeping his thumb over her clit. The pleasure of her touch shot like electricity up his spine and into his fingertips, leaving him warm and aching.

“Say my name,” he growled.

Astrid laughed breathily, letting her head fall back in amusement.

“You’re such an egotist.”

“Say it.”

“Moralo,” she breathed.

He inhaled deeply and moved to bite hard in the crook of her neck, where he could get a better grip on her flesh. Her hand curled a little tighter, sliding over the tip of his cock and back down. He rocked against her rhythm.

“Moralo.” Not moaning—just speaking, low and husky, the Coruscanti lilt pulling the vowels in ways that were foreign to him and, somehow, utterly compelling. He added a second finger beside the first, curling them slightly inside her.

After another minute or so, she gasped softly. The sound caught in her throat for a second and emerged as a low noise that sent a shudder through his stomach. Moralo waited for the telltale spasms to end before easing his hand out from between her thighs.

Hot, tightening pressure started radiating down his back to groin. He grabbed the back of Astrid’s head, twining her dark hair around his fingers as he jerked his hips against her. She grunted in discomfort as he pulled her closer, groaning his orgasm into her shoulder. He hated sounding so desperate, but it came on too hard and fast to stifle.

She held his cock lightly until it retracted, wet fingers sliding along oversensitive skin. Moralo winced. Her skin was hot and damp where he’d been gnawing at it, plum red beneath thin fur. He touched the dark crescents on her neck as he caught his breath, following them down like beads on a string, finally stroking the scar beneath her clavicle. He traced it down her breastbone to her ribs. Astrid startled, as if just realizing what was happening.

“Don’t.” Pushing his hand away, she twisted to get around him and off the table.

Moralo tried not to feel—what? Hurt? Rejected? Of course not. They both knew what they were doing. He straightened up, adjusted his clothes, and tried to find something compelling to say, but for the first time in months, he felt truly exhausted. It was almost pleasant. He cleared his throat.

Astrid looked up from the sink.

“Was there something you…needed?” She seemed to be choosing her words with care.

“No,” he said sourly, “but you’re free to stay until morning. It only seems fair.” Chivalry made his skin crawl, so he tried to get it over with quickly.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

Moralo rolled his eyes. “The decision is yours. Go back out in the rain, then.” _None of this makes a difference_ , he told himself as he headed toward the ship’s small sleeping quarters. This was just another form of exchange.

• • •

Astrid sat in the dark galley, listening to the rain sheet against the hull.

That had worked. Against all expectation, she had pulled off a ploy so base, so predictable, it was astonishing. Sex was truly fascinating.

Arousal, desire, pleasure—these feelings were beyond her, but she had unique attributes. She was not just a droid, not just a weapon, but a vessel for her creator’s desires. All of them. The perfect creation. Vindi was, above all else, obsessed with perfection. He had spent so much time and energy, so many thousands of credits, creating a soft, realistic synthflesh body for her AI. Not so human as to be unremarkable, not so alien as to be undesirable. The body had many uses.

Learning to fake the right feelings kept anyone from suspecting. She supposed she enjoyed sex, even if she couldn’t feel the same chemical euphoria. She had just experienced something visceral and unfiltered, no matter how brief. Living beings showed so many of their truest needs when they fucked. They became so delightfully predictable. No doubt, this was what Eval thought he was getting from her.

Then, by inviting her to stay, he had offered intimacy. Vulnerability. That was new.

Playing this game wouldn’t get her any closer to useful Separatist data, but it brought her closer to Moralo. It gave her a power only she could wield, in a space where no one else saw. And if she kept Moralo occupied like this, he might not dig too deeply into her motivations.


	4. Animal Attraction

Moralo breathed the warm, musky taste of hair and skin, murkily conscious of heat radiating into his side. He was pushed between the wall and Astrid's body on a ship bunk barely big enough for a single occupant. Had he slept? Moralo shifted, bearing his weight on his shoulder. How long had it been since he last woke from utter darkness?

His programmer lay rigidly on the edge of the bunk with her back to him, arms pillowing her head. Moralo idly traced the bumps of her vertebrae. The ship remained cool this far inside. Like the reptomammal he was, Moralo was loathe to leave the bubble of heat between them. 

He had no idea what time it was, or even the day. For weeks, the Phindian had been keeping time only by The Box—managing progress benchmarks, fine tuning the interface, reporting to Dooku…

Reporting to Dooku.

A kick of adrenaline jolted him. His communicator blinked insistently on the desk. He shoved past Astrid, swearing, straightening his clothes. He paused to give his bedmate a warning look before he shut the door between them. 

With a deep breath, Moralo retraced the comm code. The count’s form materialized in his palm. Moralo bowed his head briefly.

“I apologize for the delay, Count Dooku. I have been deeply involved in completing final preparations for The Box. Time simply escaped me.”

“See that it doesn’t happen again.” Dooku’s voice was icy. Moralo hated it. He hated reporting to anyone. How belittling, for someone of his genius to bow when he was the one supplying the ideas.

“It won’t.”

“I trust construction is progressing on schedule.”

“As promised. I anticipate no delay in The Box’s completion. I will be able to begin assembling the… _participants_ for this trial well in advance of the festival.”

He touched the opposite wall before he realized his feet had taken him there.

“Excellent. It is imperative this project of yours does not interfere with the delicate timing available to enact my plan. Prove yourself here, and you may very well become a valuable asset in the creation of a new order.”

“Moralo Eval will not fail you.”

“See that you don’t. And, Eval.” Moralo braced himself. “I suggest you take more care in the future.”

"Of course, Count Dooku.” Moralo ducked his head until the robed figure blinked out of existence. He pressed the 'end' button for good measure and closed his hand over the comm, squeezing until it seemed the device would crack.

He reentered the room and froze beneath Astrid's expectant gaze. The comm still bit ridges into his fingers.

"What," he snapped, not a question but a solid wall. Astrid shrugged. Moralo tossed the device onto the desk and stalked around the room. "His plan." He snarled and whirled around, feeling like a caged animal. "I made the plan. I invented The Box. Without Moralo Eval, he would have nothing. How dare he disrespect my genius?" 

He sunk into the chair next to the desk. Hadn't he put his entire life into this image? Wasn't The Box his magnum opus, and the chancellor's kidnapping the perfect means to grease its gears with blood? The Phindian clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt.

Astrid snorted and stretched out on her back.

“So Dooku disrespects you. He’s your employer. It’s par for the course, don’t you think? To be treated like garbage.”

“No, I don’t. He hired Moralo Eval because no other being can do what I do. There’s a certain level of professionalism that must be entertained.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” She hesitated. “I admire it, though. This whole evil thing you’ve built.”

“Are you appeasing me?” He sneered.

“No.” She sounded offended, but she made no move to leave. “I can take it back.”

Moralo bit his lip thoughtfully, then leaned back, draping his arms to emphasize his chest and shoulders.

“Compliment me again, and I might let you leave.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she laughed. “Fine. You are a sadistic genius.”

Warmth unspooled in his stomach. Was this residual anger or fresh arousal? Probably both. Two poisons with only one cure.

“You have no idea.”

“Why don’t you show me?”

His pulse hammered in his throat, blood rushing toward his groin.

“I have every intention of it.” He stood and crossed the room. Astrid sat up to meet him.

“And how are you going to do that, Eval?”

Moralo curled his fingers around her jaw and tilted her head up. Looking down on her suited him just fine.

“Kneel.”

He expected her to push back; he wanted her to. Moralo desperately needed to exert force over something. Instead, she complied without a word, sinking to the floor with her long, digitigrade legs tucked neatly beneath her. She shook her dark hair behind her shoulders.

“I like a challenge,” she said. “What would you have me do?”

A chill rolled down his spine. This was too perfect.

“Make me cum with that beautiful mouth of yours.”

And maybe it was a show of courage. Proof that he wasn’t deterred by her long, predatory teeth—teeth obviously made for puncturing and tearing flesh. He wasn’t lying; her mouth was beautiful. The bite force behind those jaws must be immense, and the thought twisted his gut with a thrill of anticipation. He considered this a measured dose of vulnerability.

Her quick fingers undid the fastenings and shed the fabric between them with ease, hands coming to rest on his hips. The sudden cold stung his skin. He was half hard and doing everything he could to hold back, to make her earn it. Moralo cocked his head.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Her eyes flicked up briefly, and then she dipped her head forward. Her tongue met his skin, and his mind burst into static. She licked upward, sliding over the underside of his erection with aching slowness. It was a bold move, and some stubborn part of him appreciated her directness. No time wasted on teasing or flirtation. She just wanted his cock in her mouth. The slow, lavish attention continued until he was fully erect and feeling slightly weak in the legs. Moralo braced himself with one arm against the wall.

Her fingers curled lightly around the base—flooding him with memories of the previous night—and then her mouth closed warm around the tip. She was equal parts hard and soft, fangs only brushing his skin, tempered by the insistent stroke of her tongue. Owing perhaps to the anatomy of her muzzle, she did most of the work with her tongue. Not that he was complaining. Moralo dug the fingers of his free hand into her hair, pushing her down a little harder. He wanted to be in her, needed to feel her throat working around him. She acquiesced, slowly, taking him deeply and then pushing back against his grip.

It took immense self-restraint not to grab her head and thrust into her throat until he came. Too soon, she pulled back, pushing her tongue hard against him as he slid out of her mouth. A thread of fluid dangled between her mouth and the tip of his cock.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he rasped, gripping her hair tighter. She winced, but tilted her head up, those pale blue eyes beseeching.

“But I want you to fuck me.”

A bloom of pleasure rolled through his stomach. Oh gods, she was playing him perfectly, and he should be concerned by that. He really should. But there just wasn’t enough blood flow dedicated to being paranoid right now.

“Maybe,” he said warmly, untangling his fingers from her hair. “If you beg for it.”

She curled her hand loosely around the base of his erection, rubbing her thumb along the ridged underside. It wasn’t bringing him any closer to orgasm, but it was breaking him down, slowly.

“Please?” She stretched up on her knees, gripping his hip for stability with her free hand. “Please fuck me, Moralo. I need it.”

“On the bed. On your back.” His voice wavered, despite how he tried to issue the command. Her prim accent fraught with lust, the way his name sounded on her tongue (the tongue that had done such amazing things to him a minute ago), it was undoing him in a wonderful way.

She stripped efficiently and laid herself out, one leg bent at the knee to bare herself to him, her pussy soft pink. Kneeling over her, Moralo ran one hand down her throat and chest, brushing the pink nub of one nipple with the pad of his thumb. She didn’t show much response. He wondered if he could coax a cry out of her with his teeth, but he would save that for later. They had already delayed this too much. His hand continued down the slight dip of her stomach, from the arches of her ribcage to the points of her hipbones, finally sliding to rest between her thighs. He pushed the folds of skin apart with more care than last time. 

“You’ll need lube, or something. It’s…normal, don’t worry about it,” she said quickly.

At a loss, Moralo coated two fingers with saliva and pushed them both in, delighting in the spasming pressure of her. Astrid winced and made small sounds behind closed lips.

“Take it,” he murmured as he thrust slowly, pushing against her muscles. He throbbed at the thought of being inside that incredible heat. When it seemed she had adjusted enough, he withdrew his fingers. Astrid made a noise of disappointment at the loss.

“Do you want it?” he teased, stroking himself with re-dampened fingers.

“Yes.”

“Tell me. Convince me.”

Astrid leaned up on her elbows to make full eye contact.

“I need you to fuck me so hard I can’t think,” she said, her tone suddenly serious.

Moralo’s heart thudded in his ears. “With pleasure.”

He pulled her thighs up against his sides, giving him a deeper angle into her. He guided himself in and pushed until she clamped and halted him. When he drew back, she seemed to clutch him from within. The pressure was intoxicating. She adjusted quickly, until he was pressed fully into her, engulfed in that aching heat. He thrust deep and hard, bracing himself above her to watch her reactions with hungry interest. The canid’s eyes closed and her head tilted back. She wasn’t very vocal, which was a small disappointment, but her body was responsive.

All his self-restraint was starting to ache. Moralo pushed the heels of his hands into her shoulders with bruising weight. She groaned and arched back to ease the pressure. The Phindian thrust faster as the pulses of pleasure arcing through him grew more insistent. He curled one hand around her neck, below her jaw. He didn’t apply pressure—just held her still, throat taut beneath his hand.

“You do realize how vulnerable you are right now,” he panted, voice strained with the effort it took to control. “Alone, completely at my mercy.”

Her voice hitched as he thrust deeply. “I’m not afraid of you, Moralo.”

He leaned in until he could almost taste her. “You should be.”

Her arms came up around his back. She rolled her hips to meet his thrusts until she came with a high, breathy noise he wanted to replay in his mind forever. Her muscles fluttered and gripped, squeezing rhythmically. It made Moralo gasp, the pressure against his overstimulated skin bordering on delicious pain. He came with a shuddering cry. Astrid’s nails raked across his shoulder blades.

He breathed heavily. The air around her tasted metallic, like durasteel in the sun. And gods, she was so warm.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

Feel? Moralo was numb, flooded with dopamine and endorphins; his job, his plan, his life and its responsibilities just an ugly blur.

“Marginally.”

He didn’t quite collapse but curled against her with shaking limbs, maximizing bodily contact to soak up her warmth. This being was turning out to be more useful than even Moralo Eval had anticipated. 

Astrid knitted her fingers behind her head. She had a question. He could feel it.

“Dooku didn’t mention a programmer,” she said carefully.

“These are high level overviews,” Moralo mumbled into her hair.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never spoken with anyone but you,” she continued, undeterred. “And you’ve never mentioned the impact my work will have on your schedule. You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet about it. And now…this.” She gestured to their bodies, pressed together.

Moralo sighed deeply.

“So, is this going to be a problem?” Astrid pressed.

Moralo tapped his fingertips on her sternum. “Think of it this way. This little partnership—this ‘collaboration’—is strictly under the table. I am subcontracting you. Your presence within the grand scheme of things is on a need-to-know basis, and for the foreseeable future, nobody needs to know. Especially Dooku.”

“What you’re saying is, I do all the work, you take all the credit?”

He quirked an eyeridge, even though she couldn’t see it. 

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, by all means.” From her flat tone, he couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic.

“I’d hardly say you’re doing all the work. This is my plan. My design. My brilliance.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “I should probably get back to making your brilliance a reality, don’t you think? Not that I don’t appreciate this, but your schedule is somewhat demanding.”

Something in him twinged, some ancillary emotion he didn’t feel the need to name.

“I can forgive your tardiness this time.”

He pulled her against his body and rested his chin on top of her head. Astrid sighed and relented. It wasn’t affection; it was simply control. Moralo Eval would never admit to something so base as being _touch-starved_. That was pathetic. She was warm, and he needed time to regain his strength.

He had to admit, this adrenaline rush was becoming addictive.


	5. Backslide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of self harm in this chapter, fair warning.

She’d had sex with organics before, curious about the overwhelming appeal of it, but never more than once with any individual. Learning to read Moralo and fine-tune her responses to his desires was quickly becoming a game. With every interaction, she wrote more data to the profile of what he desired, allowing her to become something else. Someone sarcastically playful, intelligent, complimentary; someone who showed teeth but always yielded when he pushed. She gave him something to overcome.

Astrid was learning that she liked this. In a matter of days, she found herself wanting to spend time with the Phindian more than she wanted to work. Much more than she wanted to think about her dues to Vindi.

They developed a comfortable pattern over the days; keeping to their own work, flirting heatedly, until Moralo called her away for cathartic sex. It wasn’t always quick. Sometimes, he kept her around just so he could fall asleep. It seemed the physical exertion and biochemical release eased his sporadic bouts of sleeplessness. Every time they did this, she learned more.

Sex was a locus of control, for both of them. Moralo got off on physically dominating her. Astrid didn’t have any desire for sex, but she enjoyed the autonomy. She was taking herself from her creator, indulging her own selfish whims. Even if she was giving that control to Moralo on the surface, he couldn’t hold anything over her. She was just letting the Phindian believe he could.

Over time, she was coming to like his fragile ego and self-absorbed rambling.

Moralo would vent emotionally in the afterglow. Usually, he whined about wasting his brilliance on everyone around him, but sometimes, he shared other schemes stewing in his mind, or gossiped about criminals he had known. The more comfortable he got, the more he talked. There was a candor to him now. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it trust, but despite himself, Moralo Eval had become intimate.

•••

The familiar chirp of a communicator broke through the pattern of her typing. Astrid glanced expectantly at the command center console, but the indicator was dark. Something gripped her, a complicated combination of emotions she would have to pick through later for analysis. Mostly, it felt like dread.

She raced through the afternoon sun to her own ship, where she could open her encrypted channel in safety, simply hoping Moralo wouldn’t find her missing. In the dark, a flickering blue Faustian glared at her from the device’s holoprojector.

“And how long do you suppose I should wait for you to complete this simple mission?” he hissed.

“I have most of the raw data and schematics. I only need to find documents verifying the weapon’s ultimate purpose and to complete my work for Eval.”

“I am curious,” he began, his tone suddenly light,“what part of my instructions you do not understand.”

“I understand everything, Doctor.”

“Then why are you wasting my time with your excuses? You are a computer. You do not sleep, you do not eat, you do not think or feel. Simply do what I command you.”

“I know the weapon’s purpose, colloquially,” she cut in, scrambling for something. “Eval has revealed the entire plan to me because I have taken the time to ingratiate myself with him. It’s not deliverable—but it helps to know what I’m looking for. I know what I’m doing, Doctor. I will get the data.”

“You know what you are doing?” Amusement lingered light on his voice. “Tell me, Astrid, what are you?”

She bowed her head, showing teeth in a hopeless threat.

“A droid.”

“No.” His voice snapped with self-assurance. “You are not even so useful as a droid. A _droid_ wouldn’t need to be memory wipted to remind it who it belongs to. A _droid_ wouldn’t labor under the delusion of worth.”

She hated that word, the way he used it to cut her.

“I don’t have worth, except to you,” she admitted.

“At the cost of my constant frustration.”

“I will complete this job. I will find out what Dooku is using The Box for.” She spoke hollowly, but she was angry beyond fear. Who had programmed her with a full emotional range? Who had allowed her to develop self-righteous anger? Who was wrong here?

Vindi made a noise of quiet frustration. “This incessant loyalty to the sense of self was a fatal mistake, one I will not repeat,” he said quietly, as if to himself. “You will return to Coruscant to transfer the data in three standard rotations. That will be ample time to gather the necessary means, if you are as close as you say. This has been a needless hindrance to my plans. We must begin work on the next phase. For your own sake, make sure I do not need to replace you.”

The connection flickered out. Automatically, Astrid gripped the flesh of her arm, just below the elbow, and ripped her sharp nails across it. Her muscles felt heavy for a moment—a warning from her central core, a program to keep her from damaging her body past its slight regenerative properties. She snarled in frustration.

This body; this was not her. It tethered her to Vindi.

It had been built with specific goals. Strong, agile, defined with synthetic muscles that, under the skin, were translucent blue. The short, white fur reflected UV rays, to prevent the artificial skin from sustaining more damage than it could repair. She dug her nails into her arm again, drawing up the dark, bacta-rich fluid that kept the skin alive—for a certain definition of the word.

She had learned quickly that she could get Vindi’s attention by damaging the body. It was the only part of her he cared about. It was the part he built. Her AI was ancillary, an artificial self allowed to develop without the boundaries that kept droids subservient. Vindi, after all, wanted a life form that transcended life itself. Convincingly living without the limits of organic or artificial life. That’s what she was supposed to be.

Despite repeated memory wipes, she had been allowed to retain the knowledge of the things she had done to the body, perhaps to teach her that defiance was pointless.

There were scars in her mouth—broken glass, thick blood dripping between her teeth. Faint pink scars from teeth and nails, when the doctor had deprived her of sharp implements. Snapped servos and shredded synthmuscle from pushing past her body’s tensile strength. The time Vindi had spent trying to complete her, she spent unmaking herself. First in search of concern, then in rebellion against his control.

And then, Vindi had moved on. Virology—the pursuit of a more simple, more perfect life form. Pure genetic material; its drive constant, its aspiration only to survive.

And here she was.

She smeared the blood across her fur with her thumb. Vindi didn’t care if she was injured or destroyed anymore, except that it would inconvenience his lengthy retaliation against those that had eradicated his true perfect life form. In the end, did she really care, either? Being useful was all she knew. As long as she did that, the ends validated the means.

She could keep tearing at herself until the pain algorithms paralyzed her, but it would never be enough. Vindi had given her pain when her self-destructive tendencies impeded her development. She had self-preservation protocols now, entirely against her own will; the body’s attempt to preserve itself in spite of her. Vindi’s control woven into the fiber of her being.

He couldn’t control outside forces, could he? Astrid left the ship and walked swiftly back to the command center, where she keyed Moralo’s code into the comm array. They were just using each other, after all. She finally had a valid use for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am dying the slow death of no critical engagement, so bear with me. This is why I generally don't post before a piece is fully written. Lack of response stops my creative process in its tracks. I can trick myself by writing a story in entirety and holding out on the hope of something I know, from experience, I won't get. 
> 
> I can cheat my own enthusiasm on maybes, but I can't deny numbers, so I'm currently pushing against every urge to nuke this from orbit and disavow all knowledge that I ever tried. It's like that sometimes. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I can write for myself, but I don't post for myself. It would probably be smart of me to hold off posting until the rest of the story is done.


End file.
